Requiem For Innocence
by Rosette-Cullen
Summary: After five months, six hundred miles from home, Harry is released only to find that things are not as he left them. Requiem For A Dream fic, rated for drug use and mature themes. One-shot.


**A/N: I haven't switched fandoms, I just got _Requiem For a Dream_ unrated for Christmas and I've been watching nonstop. I cry at the end every time and I think that everyone should see that movie. It's my favorite movie and a beautiful one at that.**

**Still kind of out of it and not into writing much, but I sat down and this popped from my fingers. Hopefully a new computer will bring up new inspiration.**

**Disclaimer: All respective characters belong to Hubert Selby Jr. or the movie category I'm using, in which it's director Darren Aronofsky.**

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Harry was fidgety. Beyond that really. Even during the withdrawal that was scaled down because of his amputated arm he hadn't felt this bad. His stomach was in knots, seemingly untwisted at intervals of hope and then those wires coiled together, knocking the wind out of his chest. He imagined Tyrone must have felt something like this during his fetal nights on his metal spring bed.

The two friends had been separated after Tyrone called mercilessly for assistance during Harry's horror. At times he felt immense guilt. Immense? Oh no, that wasn't the word. Harry had cut down the lives around him one by one until everyone fell to their knees with weakness. He hadn't heard much, but during yard visits at the facility he was kept in, Harry would see Tyrone with others, shaking and sweating, begging anyone for a fix of just about anything. Harry and Ty had gone into this together, experimented together with marijuana and then that lovely white powder. Oh how he missed heroine, had dreams about smacking it down on the table and grinning at Marion.

The knots tightened once more. Upon waking up from his medical induced slumber and finding that his left arm had gone missing, all he thought was that his fingers would never touch her again. Of course he thought other things as well. Now he wouldn't be able to shoot up anymore, his nasal cavity was out of the question. Though Harry enjoyed it up through the nose at times, he'd seen things that horror stories were made of.

His attending nurse had asked him who Marion was. He was screaming her name apparently, begging for her. He didn't want to bring her down here. He'd been such a fucker before he left, calling her a whore for what she did in order to help _him_. She fucked her psychiatrist for the two grand he needed to get more. He convinced her to do it and then threw it in her face when she needed him.

It was still unclear to Harry whether or not Marion was hooked before he came into the picture. He wasn't shy about hiding his treasure, he pulled it out and prepped it and one day she asked to partake. He didn't care if she was on it before him, all that mattered was that they enjoyed it together and when they did… oh, it was magic.

"Mr. Goldfarb?"

Harry looked up, bloodshot eyes meeting with bright blue ones. If he weren't so obsessive about Marion he might have tried to hit on his therapist during therapy. "Yeah?" he mumbled.

She stood up straighter, professionalism leaking from every pore. "I just want to say that the last five months that we've been together have been some of the most pleasurable that I've experienced with a patient. I thought that with the, well, length of time that you'd been a slave to substance abuse that it would be difficult to get through to you."

"Yeah," he croaked. "Don't worry 'bout it. Ain't nothing I can do with a bum arm. Or lack thereof." He waved the stub to demonstrate.

She smiled empathetically. "Well, as we've discussed many times before, there are alternate ways to abuse substances—"

"Could you not," he choked. "Not use that term? If my ma could hear you she'd start weeping all over the place."

"It's the technical term Mr. Goldfarb."

Harry held eye contact for a few long moments, then looked away, sighed and read over his diploma once more. Five months of counseling and therapy had led to this moment. He had to leave Ty behind; he'd been convicted of felony, possession and a witness to murder. The damn Italians and blacks had a war going on and Ty wormed himself in the middle without even knowing it.

They'd see each other again soon. Ty's calm demeanor and submissiveness to therapy would probably get him out on good behavior. Harry told him not to fuck this up, that he needed him now more than ever.

His therapist snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Dozing off?" she asked. He nodded. "Please, Harry. Speaking as your ally you need to attend therapy back home for at least a couple months. I gave you my number so just call me if you need help and have whoever's helping you there contact me. This is your new life."

Her speech flew by his mind, whirring around him and in one ear, out the other. Soon enough he was walking through big iron gates with a suitcase in his one hand. The warden gave him a ticket for the train and a pat on the back.

He was a reformed civilian, a new-lifer and no longer a menace to society. He didn't get to say goodbye to Ty.

The knots didn't let up as he took a seat on the train. If anything the knots got worse every mile the train went. So six hundred miles later when he arrived back in New York, anticipation swelling through his body, he found that he wasn't ready to return.

Harry hadn't thought over the details exactly. He knew his mother wouldn't have been able to come and get him. She was old and alone, probably watched her set all day long and had her stint on TV. She was so damn happy, so proud that she was on the game show. He thought of her uppers, those diet pills she'd been taking. Her friends would have stopped her before it got too far.

Harry stopped at his mother's building first. He had enough money for a couple cab rides and maybe an ice pop if he didn't tip the driver. The ladies weren't out for their afternoon sunning and gossip. He was kind of hoping that she'd be out here and run to him, wrap her arms around him and sob that he was stupid for losing his arm. Then she'd make him roast beef sandwiches and tell him about her television appearance. He wondered if she won anything.

The elevator ride up was accompanied by a bad feeling. The kind of bad feeling you get that's mixed with anxiousness and insecurity. He hadn't felt this way since he was a kid and broke his father's favorite golf club. He'd beat Harry over the head with that club, told him not to be stupid and stupid boys didn't make it out of Brooklyn without a box wrapped around them.

As the elevator doors slid open and the bell dinged above Harry's head a petite woman stood in front of him, hand to her heart. Gray hair, wrinkles and green eyes. He'd seen her out in the sun talking about her daughter. She'd tried to set the two up ever since his mother had moved into the building.

"Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed, arms opening wide to hug him. She noticed the lack of movement on his left side and peeked under his jacket. A gasp of horror echoed around the small elevator box, which was in a state of purgatory for movement.

Harry stepped out into the hallway and backed away from the handsy woman. "Nice to see ya again," he said politely, holding back the biting words that were gnawing for release.

The old woman began to cry, snot running down to her chin. He thought of Ty, his ambitions and need to never be caught in the cold, begging others. "I'm sorry," she blubbered.

Harry stuffed his hand in his pocket, thinking how every person was going to react the same way. Poor Harry, lost his arm by being careless and shoving a needle where it shouldn't go. He deserved it, though. He pushed everyone down; why not lose something as a token of his guilt?

"Hey, hey now," he said quietly, waving his palm around. "It didn't even hurt that bad. I was out for the procedure, woke up and I was fixed to pain killers."

She looked up, cocked her head to the side and sucked the running mucus up her nose. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry about your arm. But your mother, too."

His mouth fell open a bit, his left arm had a phantom itch and he wanted to hit something. More than the urge to hit, he wanted to go down to Coney Island and find a dealer.

"What about my mother?" he asked guardedly.

She paled and wrapped her fragile arms around a thin body. "Oh, oh you poor thing," she cooed. "I know you were out of town—your mother was so proud of you owning your own business and doing your own things. I know you must have busy, being away for so long and all." The tears started up again. "They took her away, Harry. Sara was sick, very sick. She was losing her hair, got real thin all of a sudden, sweating all the time. I swear, I thought I heard screaming but didn't think nothing of it. None of us did! Not until we got a call and had to go see her…."

"Where is my mother?" Harry asked, body trembling. "Who are 'they'?"

"Well, the doctors, Harry. She had to go to the hospital. They took her to an, um…." She thought hard for a moment, brow dropping and bottom lip sticking out. "Asylum! They took her there, gave her shock treatment."

This time Harry did lash out in violence. He thought the bag was lying to him. He pulled out his key and unlocked the door to her apartment, throwing it open only to find that the place was emptied out. The whole room was covered in dust, the wallpaper was wilting and most of his mother's porcelain figures had been smashed to bits.

He walked around slowly, looking up and down. The place was a mess. If she hadn't been here for awhile then there must have been an earthquake.

Her room was a battle zone. A red dress hung in the window ominously, threatening to jump out if Harry made the wrong move. Gold shoes were beneath it and next to that a picture frame from his graduation. He stood beside his mother and father. The red dress was the one hanging up in front of him. Harry remembered his mother telling him before, when she started the diet pills that she wanted to fit into it.

He sucked in a shaky breath, jaw trembling. His hand dropped the frame and ran through his dark hair. It had grown and been cut several times, but now it was almost the same length as when he'd been arrested all those months ago. The pain in his arm had been too much and he didn't care if he got caught. All he wanted was to stop the pain.

"She said she wanted to still pay the rent," the woman said, standing behind him now. "Said she wanted you to have a place, in case you came back."

"Where is she?" he whispered hoarsely, holding the tears back.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed. "You don't wanna see her. They shaved off her hair, took everything away, even her dignity. She said to tell you that she loves you, but honey, you don't wanna see Sara."

He stood up, angry eyes fixed on her. "I do. And I'm going to. I'll be back later and then you take me to my ma."

He didn't wait for her to respond as he strode out of the apartment and ran down the flights of stairs. His mind was targeted on one person, one place and it was all he could think about. For months he thought about her, wanted to see Marion and now he was going to. He didn't care what became of his lover; he'd still have her if she even wanted him. Maybe she moved on, but he couldn't sit around and wait to find out.

The building they lived in together was out of shape. Vines climbed up the side and reached for the heavens. He ran up stairs, choosing to let the physical exhaustion take over instead of his mental battle. If he could only see Marion, only hold her in his arm and touch her again….

He banged on the door, over and over but no one answered. He fumbled with his keys and shoved open the door. An old lady was in the kitchen nook. She brought down a metal bat on his right shoulder. Harry wailed in pain and knocked it out of her hands.

She was a big woman, eyes wide with fright and ready to scream. He held up his hand, eyes just as wide in innocence. He didn't want to scare and hurt old ladies. He just wanted to see Marion.

"Where's Marion?" he asked breathlessly.

The old woman trembled. "The girl who lived here before?"

"Yeah!" he belted. The woman ran to the back of the kitchen, dug out a piece of paper and threw it at him, begging Harry to leave.

He wasted no time running from the apartment and down the road. Why had she moved? Could she not afford the place anymore? Did she not want to remember all the times they had there? They spent day and night memorizing each other's bodies, breathlessly panting each other's names and begging—always begging and responding to each other's pleas.

The place she moved into was a dump. It was by the water but looked like it had been inside of it for a decade or two. The inside had water stains on the ceiling, floor, hell the furniture!

Harry just wanted to get out of this miserable building and bring her back to his mother's place. He never let her meet his mother, never thought of it before, but now he wanted them to meet, wanted them to know each other. His two important women to see each other.

The door to her apartment was open and he saw her before she saw him. She was glorious in her horror.

Marion was on a ratty couch, cigarette in her hand and staring blankly at a television. Some girl was beside her, holy thigh high stockings wet and sticking to her skin. Her mascara was smudged and her lipstick was all over her chin. Marion looked nearly the same, dead eyes focused on nothing.

Harry found himself stepping into the apartment, hand grasping the door frame for balance. The girl spotted him first, gasping and standing up. Marion did the same, but stumbled as her eyes found him. She looked like utter shit.

"Harry?" she asked, her voice nearly mute.

The girl next to her brought up a gun, cocked it and barked an order to move back. Harry didn't look away from Marion. "Don't leave the door open if ya don't want intruders," he snapped.

"Put the gun down," Marion whispered. "Harry, is that you?"

"Yeah," he choked. "Yeah, Marion, it's me."

"We gotta be at Angel's in an hour, Mare. You don't wanna be late, it's one of his parties and he's offering the good shit tonight."

Marion waved her off. "Yeah, I know. I'll meet you in the lobby… give me some time, 'kay?"

The woman left unnoticed. Once the lock clicked Harry moved forward, holding Marion to him. She didn't wrap her arms around him or kiss his skin. She stood still, shoved a little at his chest.

"You okay?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "No, Harry, I'm not okay. Where the hell have you been?"

She picked up her cigarette and pushed it past her lips. She inhaled the nicotine and held it in for ten seconds before releasing through her nose. She sat down, arms trembling as she cleared the seat beside her.

"Where's you arm?" she asked, face paling beneath her make up.

Harry sat beside her. "Ty and me… we got arrested. My arm was infected and they had to cut it off. Didn't hurt when they did it. I was under some powerful pain killer." He animatedly told her about everything, waving his arm around, making scissor movements with his fingers even though they cut his arm off with a saw.

Marion said nothing and watched him with a blank expression. Her whole body trembled and by the end she was hunched over herself, hand covering her mouth as if she were ready to vomit. This wasn't how he wanted to see her. He had imagined for so many nights their first interaction after so long.

She did end up vomiting. It was probably her body mass, he noted. She had gotten skinnier and her skin was dry. She hadn't gotten off the drugs, that much was obvious. What worried him was how she managed to get her fix.

"Hey, Mare?" he asked gently, combing her hair back with his fingers.

She closed her eyes while tears streamed down her cheeks. Her mascara was everywhere and he grabbed a dirty napkin to wide the trails away. She mumbled something but he was beyond straining his ears to hear her.

"What happened to you?" he whispered.

Her head jolted up and she knocked his hand away. "You fucking left me here!" she yelled. "And you left that Goddamn number sitting on the table. Do you know what it was like every time I picked up the phone to call Angel?" His blood ran cold. "I had to look on the other side and see that picture of us—remember, Harry? Remember when we were happy?—and I had to see what I wanted over what I had to do. I've given up on dignity because you would be disgusted if you saw what I've done." She sucked in a deep breath and stood up, knocking things from a table and reaching underneath.

Marion pulled out a bag and Harry's mouth watered. She had quite the stash. Tyrone would have been proud had he been there and not stuck in some cell shaking. She didn't bother trying to inject it, she snorted it clean. The sucking sound that used to get him hard with wanton force made him sick now. She was beyond addicted. Whatever she had to do in order to sustain her fix must have taken out any meaning in her life.

"My parents moved from New York two months ago, said they couldn't deal with me. I guess Albert's been telling them I'm great since I had to fuck him for your money." She laughed humorlessly. "You're just as bad as me, Harry. Only, you're worse. You got clean right?"

"Yeah, I had to." He pointed to his missing arm and glared at her. "You don't gotta do this, Mare. We can leave. My ma's in the hospital and I've got her place. We can get outta here, start a new life."

"Can't, got work tonight," she said quickly. Her hand shot out to balance herself against a wall. A blissful smile graced her lips. "Angel makes me work on Tuesdays and Fridays, Sundays are just for him."

He tried not to scream. "So leave the fucker! Marion, you can get clean. It sucks, I know it sucks, but I did it. I gotta go to therapy and you can come with me. We can still have the life we dreamed of." He stood up and grabbed her hand. "Remember when we used to talk about it? Remember how you wanted to sell your sketches? I'll get you all the charcoal and paint you want and you can do art therapy or whatever. My ma's place is big enough for an easel; we can get one on our way there."

"No," she whispered, tears coming down again but she hardened her expression. "No, Harry. I can't stop, I tried when you left and I couldn't even handle two days. I need this. I hate what I have to do but it's worth it. You can't get me anything anymore and if Ty's still locked away neither will he."

"He'll be out soon enough! He's in recovery, Mare. We can be just like we used to. You, me and Ty. We can live at my ma's place and get real honest jobs, one day our own place by the water. Remember you said—"

"Yeah, I remember," she snapped. "I remember all the loony shit we promised each other. We wanted six kids and a big house that the heroine would pay for. You remember all your damn promises, Harry? You said you'd give me the world and we'd be so damn happy, but look at us now! You're missing your arm and I'm a whore three days a week. Where have those promises gotten us?"

Harry fell onto the couch, hand clutching his hair. Somewhere in his mind he recognized that Marion was breaking off everything they had. He held onto the thoughts of them being happy again, yet he hadn't thought of the fact that she wouldn't want it. He thought his arm would come between them, but it was her addiction and need for a fix.

"So you won't think this over, Mare?" he asked desperately.

"I've gotta go, Harry…."

"Alright, alright, Mare. When you get tired of fucking for drugs and money and whatever else you have to do just tell me."

He stood up and nearly sprinted to the door. "Harry!"

He stopped outside the door but didn't face her. "They can fuck you but they can't love you, and neither can your fix."

He left and she screamed his name. Harry couldn't take it and began to run. He expected her to weep with joy, accept a way out of the pit she'd obviously fallen into. He didn't think she liked to do this. Angel only gave for pussy. Harry had heard about parties, rich old guys gathered around women, watched them lose dignity and the sanity of their minds for whatever they needed. He stopped on a boardwalk and threw up on the sand.

He'd spent hours running. The freedom and wind against his flesh felt amazing after being locked away for so long. His breathing stuttered and after the contents of his stomach were emptied Harry walked lifelessly back to his mother's apartment. No old women came out as he passed by and he took the elevator.

He walked into the bedroom, peeling his clothes off and tossing them haphazardly across the floor. Harry knocked his mother's mess off the bed and promised to find her tomorrow. His arm had that phantom ache, but this time it eagerly reached out to hold a phantom body to his chest.

He knew Marion wouldn't come back, not without persuasion that he wasn't sure he could give. His mistakes piled up one after the other as he dozed off. They invaded his mind and he had to shove his face into the pillow to stop from screaming.


End file.
